The Trappings of Sentiment
by Take Me Back To Gallifrey
Summary: Caring was not an advantage. But what if it could be? If you had the right person to care for. A prequel of sorts to Family Ties but can be read as a stand alone story. [Pre-relationship and eventual established Sherlolly]
1. Something Old, Something New

**AN** - So the other day moriartys-apple-pie on tumblr asked me if I'd be writing something around Sherlock and Molly dating and getting married. I'd been planning to visit this idea with a fic-let as part of Family Ties. Then I started writing. It became clear pretty quickly that my little Sherlock muse was not going to be happy with just a fic-let. I honestly didn't think I'd have this anywhere near ready to post but here it is. This is a prequel of sorts to Family Ties but can be read as a stand alone piece.

* * *

Sentiment.

How he hated it. Detested it. Could have once happily lived in a world where it didn't exist.

But then of course he'd had to go and acquire himself a circle of friends. Overly sentimental friends at that. He hadn't always been so objectionable to sentiment, as his mother was only too fond of pointing out, he'd once been a loving little boy. He'd loved Redbeard.

It was all Mycroft's fault, naturally. It was Mycroft who'd told him Redbeard had been put down. At the age of nine, Sherlock's best friend and constant companion was never coming back.

"I don't know why you care about that dog so much, little brother. No one has ever gained an advantage by caring."

Mycroft had left him alone then, curled up on his bed to cry himself to sleep. 7 hours later, Sherlock had decided his brother was right – it was the only time in his life he would ever admit as much – and divorced himself from any thoughts of feelings or sentiment. He'd built a wall as high as he could around himself to keep sentiment at bay. It was a strategy which had served him well until said circle of friends had one by one found a way to worm themselves underneath his carefully built wall.

And then there was Molly. Clever, awkward, baffling Molly Hooper. The pathologist hadn't gotten underneath his wall, she'd taken a sledge hammer and broken it apart brick by brick. He'd tried rebuilding the wall on many occasions, but for every brick Sherlock replaced, Molly obliterated another two. Eventually he'd conceded defeat, sentiment had won. Sherlock Holmes had fallen in love.

* * *

Their first 'date' – and he hated that word as much as he hated sentiment – had been solving crimes together shortly after his return from his faked death. He hadn't known then what that day had been the beginning of. He also hadn't anticipated the complication of Molly's engagement to that Tom person. That was another thing which had troubled the consulting detective at the time, the act of remembering Tom's name. He'd reasoned that it was necessary if he wanted to know who to hunt down if Molly was hurt, after all if Molly was too upset to work none of the other pathologists at Barts would let him anywhere near the morgue.

As it turned out, his retention of Tom's name had come in handy once Molly had ended their engagement. Sherlock had been able to let himself in to Tom's flat one evening and retrieve Molly's belongings, saving the pathologist the emotional upheaval of having to ask for the return of her things.

Their next date had been an afternoon spent at Baker Street, Molly helping him clean up after a failed experiment. Sherlock had discovered that he rather enjoyed finding ways to make Molly laugh. Molly was not one for laughing out loud the way John often did while watching some ridiculous sitcom or other. No, his pathologist's laugh was more of a quiet giggle, the sort of sound that you could never be sure you'd actually heard.

Molly's afternoons at Baker Street became more frequent. Sometimes the couple would be lost in an experiment for hours. Other times they could be found in front of the tv, watching repeats of Jeremy Kyle. Molly often challenged Sherlock to deduce as much as he could about the guests before they'd even sat down. She never failed to laugh when Sherlock scoffed at the results of the lie detector or deduced who a child's father was by the shoes he wore or how he styled his hair. These afternoons in front of the tv usually began with Molly curled up in the chair that was only ever referred to as John's chair, before she would eventually end up perched on the arm of Sherlock's chair. Neither of them commented on this new-found closeness between them, and neither of them seemed to mind it either.

Slowly but surely, Molly Hooper was becoming more of fixture in Sherlock's life. They discussed his cases together, Molly helping him unravel his sometimes chaotic thought process in a way that often surprised him. She'd soon taken it upon herself to ensure that he ate at least once a day, no matter how often he protested that he did eat when he was working.

"Sherlock, if you don't at least attempt to look after yourself like a normal person I'm withholding your morgue privileges."

That had done it. With a huff and a pout that would have put any five year old to shame, Sherlock had conceded to Molly's wishes. Their 24th date – obviously Sherlock had to keep track of the number – was spent in a hospital waiting room, awaiting the safe arrival of Lucy Watson. Sherlock had paced and Molly had talked. After 4 hours the consulting detective had come to find the sound of his pathologists chattering to be comforting, like the sound of rain in the middle of a sleepless night. When they were finally introduced to the newest Watson Molly handled all of the necessary cooing over the baby while Sherlock cast a more critical eye over her.

Their 28th date was spent once again in front of the tv, this time at Molly's flat. They were sat side by side on the sofa, Toby curled up possessively in Molly's lap. Contrary to what many believed of him, Sherlock did not in fact hate cats. While he was not their biggest fan, he found them more tolerable than certain other animals – he'd been bitten by a hamster once at the age of four. It was a grudge he still held. Sherlock glanced sideways at Molly, her own eyes transfixed on the tv. While he had little interest in watching Moulin Rouge, he was extremely interested in Molly's reactions to it. He watched her lips move as she recited lines of dialogue along with the characters, at a guess he'd say Molly had to have seen the film at least 20 times. He was still watching her when tears sprang to the pathologists eyes. For a moment Sherlock was confused, cutting his eyes to the screen however answered his confusion. Molly was upset by the death of a character. Sherlock felt an odd weight on his chest as he returned his gaze to Molly. One fat tear had rolled down her cheek and Sherlock found that he didn't much like seeing Molly cry. Before his quick mind could even contemplate it, his hand moved of it's own accord to rest against Molly's cheek, his thumb deftly brushing the tear away. Molly turned to face him, her eyes questioning. He considered repeating Mycroft's views on caring to her but he knew Molly better than to think she'd appreciate that. He needed to do something to make her happy, because tears in her eyes were an unacceptable sight.

And that was when he knew. He loved her. He loved this exceptional woman in a way he'd never even considered was possible for him to. With that thought running rampant through his mind palace, Sherlock threw all caution to the wind. Leaning towards her, his hand still resting on her cheek, his lips met hers in a slightly hesitant kiss. The kiss was an not earth moving, fireworks going off type of kiss that happened in the films Molly liked to watch. It lasted 3 seconds, was utterly gentle and full of love. When their lips parted, Sherlock was clueless as to what was expected now. Molly smiled, taking the hand that had been against her cheek and threading her fingers through his. They stayed like that the rest of the night, Molly watching the tv while Sherlock watched her.

* * *

Now here Sherlock sat, 6 months and 30 dates after that first kiss at Molly's flat. He was in his chair in Baker Street and all around him was silent. He held one hand out in front of him, a small box resting in his palm. The emerald and diamond ring inside had once belonged to his grandmother, he remembered seeing her wearing it when he was a child. He could only hope Molly would approve of it. With all being well, after tonight it would remain on her hand until her dying day.

Dark was closing in outside, Molly's shift was due to finish in half an hour. Snapping the little velvet box closed, Sherlock stood up and looked himself over in the mirror above the mantelpiece. Satisfied that he looked presentable, Sherlock headed out, shrugging his Belstaff on as he went. With the ring box safely tucked away in his pocket, Sherlock hailed a cab, giving St Barts as his destination.

While Sherlock was not a particularly romantic person he had put a little forethought into his proposal. He made his way to the little hallway just past the locker room Molly usually changed in. It was the same locker room she'd been in the day he'd returned from the dead and laid eyes on her for the first time in over a year. The consulting detective waited in the hallway for the familiar sound of his pathologists footsteps. He smiled at the sound of her humming quietly to herself as she walked into the locker room. As quietly as possible, Sherlock stepped into the locker room, waiting for Molly to detect his presence.

"Sherlock! What are you doing here? I was going to come over to Baker Street when I finished here." Molly turned after seeing him in the mirror just as she had once before, the brightest smile on her face.

"I wanted to surprise you. That is one of those things a boyfriend does, is it not?" While Sherlock had no love for the term boyfriend, Molly use of it when referring to him had made it somewhat more tolerable.

"Oh, well yes it is." Molly stuttered slightly. Sherlock delighted in the fact that he could still make her tongue tied on occasion.

Stepping towards her, Sherlock reached out to take Molly's hand, pulling her closer to him.

"Actually, there is another reason I'm here..." A hint of nervousness was creeping in to his rumbling baritone. Anyone other than Molly might not have noticed it.

"Sherlock? What's going on?"

The consulting detective drew in a deep breath, slipping the small velvet box out of his pocket. His eyes were focused only on the woman standing in front of him.

"Molly, you know better than anyone that I am the least romantic person in the world. But I will do this properly."

Sherlock Holmes lowered himself to one knee, holding the open ring box out in front of him. Molly could only stare, dumbfounded.

"Molly Hooper, I am the most selfish person on this planet. I have the patience of a spoiled child. I have also been reliably informed by John that I am an inconsiderate arsehole. But, in-spite of all that I am utterly, irrevocably in love with you. My dearest Molly, if you could see past all of that and agree to be my wife, I swear to love you and cherish you to the best of my abilities until I can no longer draw breath." Sherlock paused for a moment, taking another deep breath. "Molly Hooper, will you marry me?"


	2. Something Borrowed, Something Blue

After waiting 23.6 seconds, Sherlock was starting to worry that Molly might have legitimately forgotten how to breathe.

"Sherlock I...but..." Molly stuttered.

The consulting detective could read her doubts as clearly as if they were written on her face.

"You still think you don't matter to me?" The hint of annoyance in his voice was not directed at her, but at himself for his years of taking Molly for granted. "Molly, I have told you ever day how much you matter to me and I will continue to do so everyday, for the rest of our lives. I love you."

Molly stared at him for a moment, searching his face.

"You really do, don't you?"

Sherlock did not answer, he merely took the hand he was holding and placed a kiss upon each of her fingertips. Finally, a smile breaking across her face like a sunrise, Molly nodded.

"Yes, you are a selfish, inconsiderate arsehole. But you are also the cleverest, most loyal and brilliant person I've ever known. And I love you. So yes, Sherlock Holmes, I'll marry you."

* * *

"Does this mean I get to plan your wedding?" Mary Watson grinned from her spot on the sofa.

"I get to plan the stag do." John called from the kitchen where he and Molly were attempting to clear away some of Sherlock's experiments before the even considered cooking anything in there. The consulting detective was in his usual chair, arms full of six month old Lucy Watson.

"We haven't even set a date yet." Sherlock grumbled quietly.

"Sherlock, how long has it taken you two to get to this point?" Mary asked, mischievous grin still on her face. "Too bloody long is the answer. So what are you waiting for?"

Sherlock wasn't used to being faced with a question he couldn't answer, it was not a feeling he enjoyed. The detective's eyes found his fiance, who had given up on clearing up experiments and was leaning against the kitchen door-frame.

"I'm fine with any date you want." Molly smiled, shrugging her small shoulders.

"I...well..." A mild hint of panic crept into Sherlock's tone. Though he would never admit it, Sherlock was utterly clueless about weddings and all that went with them. Planning John and Mary's wedding had been easy enough because it was something he could do for them. But this? This was the beginning of his and Molly's life together. What if he chose the wrong date? What if it rained? Or snowed? What if Molly changed her mind? He most certainly would not blame her if she did.

"Look..." Mary started with a sigh "what about August? Nice summer wedding, far enough away that there's time to plan but not long enough to give either of you time to get cold feet." She finished with a giggle and a grin for John who'd taken his place beside her on the sofa.

Sherlock looked to Molly again, letting the decision rest with her.

"August sounds perfect to me. What do you think Sherlock?" Molly crossed to Sherlock's chair, settling herself on the arm and tickling Lucy's tummy.

"August it is then." He looked to Molly, the lopsided smile that he wore only for her gracing his face. Molly leaned towards him, placing the lightest of kisses on his lips. While neither of them were ones for overly passionate displays of affection, even the tiniest looks they shared with each other were full of love.

Mary cheered and clapped. "We have to go dress shopping Molly!"

Molly giggled at her friends enthusiasm. "In that case, I hope you're going to be bridesmaid?"

"Bridesmaid reporting for duty." Mary saluted with a laugh before crossing the room to pull Molly in for a hug. Sherlock cleared his throat and looked to John.

"As you already know yourself John, it is of course customary for the groom to have a best man. And that said best man is usually the groom's best friend. Since you have already done me the honour of asking me to be yours, I would appreciate it you could see your way to return the favour."

That was as close as Sherlock was ever likely to get to uttering the words 'you are my best friend' to anyone.

"Of course I bloody will, mate." John was off the sofa and scooping his daughter into his arms. Settling her on his hip, John gave his best friend no choice but to be pulled into a one armed hug. Sherlock grimaced but let John hug him anyway, he'd long since learned it was easier to just let people get hugs over with than complain about them.

* * *

The invitations had all gone out weeks ago, not that the guest list was going to number past 20. And here it was, August 16th. The Big Day. Sherlock sat in his chair, quietly sipping his tea while John rushed about from room to room, making sure Sherlock's suit was laid out for him, then ensuring his own was ready. Molly had spent the previous night at John and Mary's flat, after insisting that there were some traditions she wished to stick to. Mrs Hudson had left an hour ago to join Molly and Mary.

"Okay, that's your suit and shoes ready. Mycroft said he'd send a car over about 12, didn't he?" John asked as he busied himself rearranging things on Sherlock's desk.

"Hmm? Oh, yes." While the consulting detective might have looked the picture of calm on the outside, inside his thoughts were a storm. He was absolutely terrified.

"Right...well, time to get ready then." John announced, clapping his best friend on the shoulder before piratically bouncing up the stairs to his old room. Setting his unfinished tea down, Sherlock drew in a deep breathe before heading to his own bedroom.

* * *

The girls sat on Mary's bed, laughing together while Lucy babbled along happily from her cot. Mary was rather deftly braiding Molly's hair, letting the braid finally cascade over her shoulder. Molly's only instruction to Mary was that her hair be parted on the side. The braid was finished with some small yellow flowers placed in Molly's hair, to match her yellow bouquet.

"There we go, all done." Mary announced proudly.

"Oh Molly dear, you look lovely!" Mrs Hudson cooed, tears springing to her eyes and not for the first time that morning.

"Thank you, both of you." Molly beamed, squeezing her friends hands. Surprisingly the bride to be felt remarkably calm. Molly could finally see the puzzle pieces that were hers and Sherlock's relationship fitting together. For just a moment Molly let herself imagine what her parent's would have said had they been there. That thought was quickly banished, Molly staying steadfast that her wedding day was not a day for sadness. And besides, Sherlock's parents had wasted no time in accepting their soon to be daughter in law as their own. Molly had even found Sherlock's father to be somewhat of a kindred spirit.

"Right, time for the blushing bride to get dressed!" Mary retrieved Molly's dress from where it was hanging in her wardrobe. "Mrs Hudson, could you get Lucy ready while I help Molly?"

"Of course dear." Mrs Hudson scooped Lucy up out of her cot and carried the little one through to her own little bedroom.

* * *

"You're going to wear a hole in that carpet, mate." John watched Sherlock pace back and forth in front of him. They were seated in a quiet little registry office not far from Baker Street. Sherlock's parent's sat with Lestrade and Mycroft – who'd only agreed to attend after a threat from his mother to make him watch Les Mis again. As Molly wasn't particularly religious and Sherlock had made his views on such matters very well known, they'd decided on a simple registry office ceremony. The reception would be at Angelo's. Molly had requested that Sherlock try not to solve any murders at the wedding, if possible.

"They're late." Sherlock checked his watch for the 36th time since they'd been there.

"Only by 5 minutes. And anyway, bride's prerogative and all that."

Sherlock resumed his pacing. 5 minutes – and 6 watch checks – later Mrs Hudson bustled around the corner with Lucy in her arms.

"Oh Sherlock.." That was all the landlady could get out through her never ending stream of tears. John clapped his friend on the shoulder as they moved to stand at the front of the room, the registrar taking her place in front of them and their guests taking their seats behind.

"Ready, mate?"

Sherlock could only nod in answer, not trusting his voice. The soft sounds of the song Molly had chosen to walk down the aisle to – not that it was really even an aisle in Sherlock's opinion – filled the air. Mary entered first, grinning from ear to ear. Molly followed a few steps behind. Sherlock turned, his breath catching in his throat. His pathologist. His Molly, looking as radiant as the flowers she clutched in her hands. Wearing a simple white dress that suited her perfectly, her hair braided and hanging over her shoulder. Sherlock wondered why on earth he'd ever listened to Mycroft. Caring was in fact, the greatest advantage anyone could ever have, if one had someone like Molly to care for.

Mary took her place beside John, while Molly stopped in front of Sherlock.

"Hello." She said with that almost silent giggle that he so adored.

"Hello." He responded equally as quietly.

Vows were spoken, promises made. Rings placed on shaking fingers. And with a kiss that could have set fire to the room, Sherlock Holmes gave in to all the trappings of sentiment. He'd never regret it for a single second.

* * *

**AN** - Well there you have it. Molly's ring and dress can both be seen in the cover pic for this story if you're interested. Also the song I had in mind for Molly walking down the aisle is Heaven Is by an Irish boyband called Boyzone, give it a listen if you can, I think it's just the sort of song Molly would choose. :)


End file.
